


Savius

by ghostburr



Category: Alexander Hamilton - Ron Chernow
Genre: M/M, absolutely focking unhinged, little bit of Implied Roman Debauchery, little bit of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:22:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25249840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostburr/pseuds/ghostburr
Summary: this is what hamilton gets for being horny on main :/
Relationships: Aaron Burr/Alexander Hamilton
Comments: 13
Kudos: 76





	Savius

It became like a code between them--Burr liked figuring them out and reading between the lines.

He didn’t _want_ it to stop.

His friends chastised him. He recalled a quick run-in with Peter in which the editor had scolded him, “Burr, your _reputation_ .” He didn’t care. He bowed to the elder Irving brother gracefully, noncommittal, and sent him on his way. That was the best part of it: the utter confusion that even his closest friends regarded him with. They came upon his office at odd hours with snippets of gossip here and there-- _Hamilton said this about you, he let it slip, he was at dinner, so-and-so can affirm--_ Burr smiled serenely. There was nothing Hamilton could do to get under his skin. 

Well, almost nothing.

This one was different. 

Burr scanned the badly-ciphered letter. In one column, the names of some associates of his. Mostly Jefferson’s men, but a few names Burr knew intimately. In the other column, Romans. He _wanted_ to laugh at it-- it reminded him of the imaginative games he used to play with his cousins as children. But there was nothing funny about this-- the vision of Hamilton's brow furrowed with purpose and seriousness, writing it. If Morris had known half of what Burr knew, he wouldn’t have been so careless with the letter itself. He wouldn’t have left it sitting on the table, stepping outside for a smoke on his pipe.

Burr recalled the dinner. Ten or eleven men, Hamilton among them. It was almost tiresome, seeing him again and again. He felt as though he were on display. 

He watched Morris and Hamilton bend their heads together in congress, talking about something secret. A man to Burr’s left tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention. Burr shooed him away rudely. He couldn’t concentrate and had no patience for it. Morris and Hamilton stood, shook hands, and then disappeared. And Burr made his move. He swiped the letter from the bottom of a stack they’d left sitting behind, laughing to himself. 

***

He read it to himself, alone, later that night, the boldness of it shocking even to him. 

The list of names on the left, their Roman counterparts.

Some were compared to good speakers, others to selfless farmers. A few were long-winded but intelligent, one was boring but good-hearted and honorable. Still others were unflattering, but not mean-- a man named Roberts had been compared to a Roman best known for falling asleep in the Senate. That one made Burr chuckle. He couldn’t really deny the facts. 

Then, his name, written at the bottom, in Hamilton’s own hand-- _Savius_. 

The connection took less than a second. A cold anger came over him. No one else on the list-- and Burr checked it multiple times-- had been insulted in such a way. He put the paper down, and just to make sure, pulled out an old book from his shelf by the fire and checked the connection: _Savius, a Roman most infamously known for corrupting his son._

Burr slammed the book shut and tossed it aside, onto a table. 

_What was he trying to say?_

You know, a little voice popped into Burr’s head, answering. You know exactly what he’s trying to say. 

“That I would fuck my own son,” Burr spat, his words echoing in the empty office. The more he thought about it, the angrier it made him. 

He did not have a son. He knew what the code meant. He knew this was Hamilton’s game-- pinching him just enough to irritate without leaving a bruise. Hovering his palm close against Burr’s cheek without slapping. Reaching deep inside that well of poetical genius to find just the right word to stir Burr up without giving him cause to call on him. Burr paced, stole a glance at the name and another wave of burning embarrassment came over him. 

He almost wished Hamilton would come out and say it-- stop dancing around it. Say it. _Say it._

***

One of the few benefits of being around Hamilton for so many years was that Burr always knew where to find him. They had reached a point in their professional relationship where they didn’t think anything of showing up unannounced, provided it was to an office and not a place of residence. Hamilton practically lived in his office anyway-- had a tiny back bedroom where he took brief naps throughout the night while working on something. 

Burr shoved the letter into his pocket and pulled his jacket around him.

_Once again, here you are, confronting the man in private when you should just challenge him and be done with it._

He saw the Roman name over and over again throughout the course of the afternoon-- Savius. 

_Would you miss the missives if they stopped? You would._

It was improper to be both angry and titillated. He tried to ignore it all day but his mind traveled to the way Hamilton’s handwriting looked, spelling out his name and linking it with the debaucher. 

Hamilton had thought about _that--_ had pictured Burr doing it, he was sure-- fucking one of the many handsome and young political hopefuls that hovered around him, looking for jobs. That was the insinuation, wasn’t it? Burr’s _sons._ Corrupting them. 

Burr squirmed in his seat at the implication. _Is that the game we’re playing?_ He let his thoughts wander to their logical conclusion and a hot pleasantness bloomed in his groin. His hand jerked involuntarily and he spilled a glass of water onto his lap. 

_“Shit.”_ The cold liquid had an instantaneous effect on him, waking him up and shaking him from the dangerous fantasies that lurked in the shadows of his mind. 

_And Hamilton’s, apparently._

Burr blinked and inhaled, shaking his head and reaching for an old shirt from a chair to mop up the spill. He got down on his hands and knees, rubbing. 

_You have to know, Burr. You can’t let him get away with it._

_And what would come of it?_ Burr answered himself, internally, still mopping. _Let us say, for the sake of argument, I confront him tonight and demand an explanation. Let us also say Hamilton is as lascivious as he claims I am-- that our thoughts and minds are finally on the same page and this is his way of making his desires known._

_Then what?_

Burr finished, sitting back on his heels with the wet shirt in his lap, sighing. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, trying to imagine what might come of a confrontation. 

First, Hamilton would demand to know how the letter came to be in his possession. 

Second, once Hamilton had been caught, there would be the inevitable excuses- _it was a bit of fun, we were joking, it doesn’t mean anything._

Third, Burr would have to decide whether or not he would accept the other man’s words, or if he would see the rising color and the blown-out pupils and the fluttering heart and decide to knock down the final wall between them.

He felt warm again. 

Burr stood, grabbed the letter, reading it again. It was there. It was _there_. 

_Right there._

***

Hamilton heard the knock on the door and smiled to himself, a flip of excitement in the pit of his stomach. 

He opened the door to his small office and saw the face of the exact man he expected, at the exact time, holding the exact letter. Hamilton grinned smugly. 

“Hello, Burr,” he stepped aside, “Please, come in.”

“Thank you,” Burr brushed past him coldly and hung his coat up. He fished the letter from his breast pocket, holding it aloft. He watched Hamilton’s face split into a wider smile. 

“I was wondering where that went. I was beginning to think Morris had just burned it,” Hamilton responded drolly. To Burr’s surprise, he walked over and plucked it from his hands, unfolding it. 

“So you knew it was missing,” Burr tried, following Hamilton into the office proper. 

“I did,” Hamilton made a face, scanned the letter, and tossed it into the fire. He looked at Burr, “And now it is missing forever.”

Burr pointed at the smoldering pile, “You know I read that, right? The whole thing.”

“What did you think?” Hamilton blinked innocently.

“Are you out of your mind?” Burr stepped closer, “Do you know-- the things you are accusing me of-- wipe that infernal smile off your face, Hamilton. I am not playing games with you. I know what you are insinuating with that comparison and I won’t stand for it anymore.”

Hamilton tilted his head back, laughing, “Oh, Burr. We were having a bit of fun. It was Morris’ idea, anyway--”

“--Stop it,” Burr cut him off definitively.

“If there’s no truth to it, why are you defensive?” Hamilton tried again, half-smile plastered to his mouth. 

“That is an impossible question, and you know it,” Burr shot back. “Why must it be black and white? Why may I not simply be upset that you have, once again, dragged my name through the mud?”

Hamilton’s eyes widened, “But I’m not. I told you, it was a bit of--”

“--Keep my name out of your mouth, Hamilton, or so help me God I’ll teach you a lesson you’ll never forget, do you understand me?” Burr shouted. He suddenly became aware of how dry his mouth felt, and how his hands shook with nerves. He watched Hamilton’s countenance drop like an ax. 

“Do not speak to me like I am a child,” Hamilton responded.

Burr stepped forward, feeling brave; braver still watching Hamilton’s bravado falter, backing into a table. He dropped his voice, “I have put up with this _backhandedness_ time and time again from you and I am done. I don’t know what you want from me. I am not going to call you out.”

Hamilton put a hand on the table behind him, “I don’t want anything from you-- I didn’t think-- _sincerely_ , Burr, it was not meant for anyone else’s eyes.”

“--So just your own, then?” 

“Why are you so furious?” Hamilton tried his first attack again, cornered. His face flooded with color and he straightened his back, “You come in here demanding explanations from a letter you stole, might I add-- a letter you had no business reading-- and I am just supposed to explain my private thoughts to you? You do not have that luxury. You sit back and let me go about my business.”

“Savius? _Savius?”_

Hamilton clenched his jaw, “Again, it was my private paper. And again, I will ask you why you are so quick and violent to denial if there is not a ring of truth to the accusations?”

“Ah,” Burr laughed mirthlessly, “Your private papers. Of course, of course. No, Hamilton, go about your business then, thinking about me corrupting my men, if that is what is for the good of the nation then so be it, right?”

 _Why,_ Burr wanted to ask, _why me, of all people-- is there not another man you can pin your debauched fantasies on?_

To his surprise, he watched Hamilton’s shoulders slump.

“Fine. Yes,” Hamilton lifted a hand and dropped it.

For several seconds, his words hung in the air. Burr searched him, opening his mouth wordlessly, and then closing it again. Finally, he found his voice. 

“Yes, what?”

Hamilton swallowed, lifting himself off the table, and rubbing his eyes. He began to pace the small office, wringing his hands. Burr watched him, his mood swinging from anger to anxious interest. Hamilton spoke, “I will admit, I had...fears. Come with me.”

He reached out and grabbed Burr’s arm, pulling him silently back to the small bedroom. He pushed the door open and moved a small pile of books to the side with his foot. Burr took a second to look around: a slim, unmade bed, a few candle stubs, a tiny nightstand, an over-packed bookshelf. Hamilton dragged them to the single, tiny window, pushing aside a dingy curtain. 

“Here. Look outside, Burr. What do you see?” Hamilton asked.

Burr complied, wiping a spot from the glass, “I see… a few streets. The tavern, just there--”

“--Precisely. The tavern.”

Burr stepped away from the window, “What are you talking about?”

“You mustn’t think I’m spying,” Hamilton began, clasping his hands, “But, with my unfortunate vantage point, I do see a lot of the comings and goings. I will admit I know you to be a frequent guest. I see you coming and going at odd hours, with some of your men, and I--”

“--And you just assumed I must be fucking them,” Burr finished the thought. 

Hamilton blushed spectacularly, “It was a stupid joke. I’ve explained the origins.”

“And even if I _was_ , Hamilton,” Burr dropped his voice, “Who would believe you?”

Hamilton paused, “Excuse me?”

“I said, even if I was fucking every last one of them-- and you saw it with your own eyes, standing at this little window in you tiny office bedroom,” Burr reiterated, “If you shouted it from the rooftops-- who would believe you?”

Hamilton was undaunted, “I know you better than any of them. They would have to believe me.”

“Who is they?”

“Our friends of influence. Ones who would put a stop to it,” Hamilton matched the other man’s tone. He lifted his chin, “They would sooner believe me than you. They know to trust my word when it comes to you, because I have been right thus far.”

Burr let out another unfriendly chuckle, shaking his head and looking away. He balled his fist, clenching and unclenching it, the frustration radiating through him like an electric charge. 

***

Hamilton lost track of time, in that moment, the last of the wall being shattered. 

_Put your hands on him. See how he reacts. See his parted mouth._

“So,” Hamilton crossed his arms, “Tell me I was mistaken in my hypothesis, and I will consider this matter settled.”

“You have some nerve,” Burr swung the curtain shut. “You cannot throw an accusation around like that and then expect me to answer for them. To jump when you say jump. That is not how this works, Hamilton.”

Burr glared at him, aware of how small the room felt. 

“Where is the logical conclusion? What will be your next humorous little letter? That I am a murderer? A traitor? There are any number of crimes you can charge me with. Am I supposed to be on the defensive side for the remainder of our lives?” Burr went on. 

“Perhaps you should be careful who you befriend, then.” Hamilton replied smartly. He let a slow, cruel grin spread across his lips. “You shouldn’t be dining out every night, anyway. I am certain your tab must be astronomical at this point. Or does the bartender owe you favors as well?”

A bow snapped in the back of Burr’s mind-- loud and painful. Before he could think, he reached out and shoved the other man into the bookshelf. Hamilton hit it with a grunt, toppling some of the looser items. They clattered on the floor in disarray. 

Hamilton straightened his back and opened his mouth to defend himself, and Burr pushed him again. Another handful of items tumbled to the floor. 

“Is _this_ how you want to see me?” 

“That _hurt,_ ” Hamilton rubbed his arm. He reached down and picked up a piece of broken glass, examining it. He placed it back on the shelf, “Use your words, Burr.”

Burr spoke through gritted teeth, coming towards him again, “It doesn’t matter what I say. There’s nothing I can do or not do to make you stop--” He put his hands on Hamilton and grabbed a handful of fabric at his collar, maneuvering him in the opposite direction. 

He threw him against the nightstand, knocking a candle over, “Is this how you want to solve it? Combat?”

Hamilton swore and swung at him, knuckles making contact with Burr’s jaw. He hyperventilated, “Keep your hands off of me.”

In another second, Burr was on him again, pushing him back against the nightstand. It rocked, off-balance, and Hamilton stood his ground. He grabbed Burr by both arms and tossed him aside, swinging again in the split second after letting him go. Burr caught the punch with his left hand, and swung low with his right, landing a hit squarely into Hamilton’s abdomen. 

Hamilton doubled over, words strained, “The angrier you are, the more I know it to be true.”

Burr stared at him, unsure he understood what he was hearing. Before he could plan his next move, Hamilton lunged at him, using his bent position to ram Burr back against the thin metal bed frame. The latter man swore loudly, a searing pain shooting through his lower vertebrae. 

The bed scraped at the hit, and Burr crashed against it. Hamilton pinned him there-- dominant hand grasped tightly around his neck. He bent Burr back, as far as he could go, watching his body drape over the metal frame at the foot of the bed and his hands grip his forearm helplessly.

 _“Hamilton,_ ” Burr choked, “I can’t _breathe_ , get off.”

Hamilton watched his forearm turn purple with bruises from Burr’s fingers. His adrenaline made him numb.

“Say it, then.”

“Say _what_ , Hamilton?” Burr closed his eyes, wincing at the pain.

“Tell me I’m right about you… _Savius_ ,” Another push, another creak of the bed springs. 

***

_You’re right...you’ve always been right--_ Burr wanted to scream it, but couldn’t. 

He assented and Hamilton loosened his grip. 

A flash of movement and groan of pain-- or pleasure, Burr couldn’t tell-- and he was on the other man. 

Violence commingled thickly with humiliation inside his mind. As soon as he was up, he reached for Hamilton and slapped him across the face, the sound of it resonating out of the bedroom and into the hallway.

Burr steadied himself again, head heavy and pounding. Hamilton didn’t care, and wasn’t ready to give up the fight. A thin strand of blood dripped from his mouth; he absentmindedly wiped it with the back of his sleeve and came forward again. He thought quickly, shoving his foot out to trip Burr, and send him falling backwards onto the bed. 

Images of breached castles and crumbling walls filled Burr’s mind; the last thing he saw before it went blank and his body went hard between his legs, acting independently of his higher thoughts.

***

Hamilton was on him, spitting curses into his neck, “I know I’m right. I know you, and what kind of man you are.”

“I bet you think about it all the time, don’t you?”

“You make it so fucking easy.” Hamilton replied, almost whining, grinding into him.

The last spark of anger coursed through Burr at the sound of the desperation in the other man’s voice. He closed his eyes-- _it feels good._ He had one thought. 

Hamilton’s tongue felt both hot and cold against his throat. He pushed his hips back and forth, rhythmically. Slowly at first. 

_Faster, please, Alexander-- faster--_

“You want it faster?” Hamilton hissed. Burr wasn’t even aware he’d made a noise. He felt desperate and taut, the rhythmic, unyielding press of the other man’s groin against his in the exact right position made him delirious. 

Burr mustered the thought again, tipping his chin back, “That feels _so_ good.”

Hamilton increased his pace, hands making quick work of their clothes, whispering demands that were almost inaudible against the creaking springs of the old mattress, “Get this off-- these, too--”

“I can’t, Hamilton-- _Alexander--”_ Burr’s words caught in his throat, pierced by a groan that escaped him better than any articulate thought. He reached out and grabbed a handful of sheets, closing his eyes, letting the other man take control.

The sudden warm press of their groins together, stripped of clothing, and Hamilton’s fervent whispers, “Just take me right here. Fuck me like you do the others. I want to see how good you treat me--”

“--You’re insane,” Burr bucked his hips up, wrapped an arm around the man above him and brought him close for an open mouthed, bloodied kiss, “You’re out of your fucking mind, Alexander--”

 _“--Say my name again.”_ Hamilton returned the kiss, blindly reaching out for a small drawer on his nightstand. He kept the pace, fishing out a vial of oil, putting the cap to his mouth to open it with his teeth, then spitting it to the side. 

“You’re _wild,_ Alexander,” Burr groaned again, and the words made him stir, so hard he thought he’d explode right there. He opened his eyes enough to watch the other man rub himself hard and wet, thumbing the head of his cock. The sight made him shake, the fluttering in his stomach almost too much to bear. 

Hamilton kissed him again, “Take this--” he handed Burr the vial. 

“I know what to do,” Burr said, low. He positioned himself behind the other man, bringing their bodies together, feeling the heat between them that cooked the words right out of his head. 

“I _bet_ you do.” Hamilton purred. “I knew I was right about you.”

Burr shut him up with a slap, hand-print red and angry even in the dim light. He leaned over Hamilton and growled directly into his ear, “You want to be treated like a boy?”

“What do you do when your boys misbehave?”

Burr could not answer, toying with the thin strand of slick oil that covered his fingers. He massaged the other man, slipping fingers inside of him slowly; Hamilton’s impertinent, embarrassingly loud cry. The string of babbling and begging: _yes, that feels so good, show me how you do it._

“Be still, be _quiet--”_ Burr groaned, stifling his voice. He slid inside the man beneath him, and continued his flat demands even as he pushed deeper, “So _this_ is how you like it.” 

The hot tightness made him feverish, and the phrases he kept hidden away in the secret corners of his mind poured out of him like melted wax. 

_Ill-mannered, impertinent, shameless._ Burr fucked him slowly and deep, matching his words to the pace he set. He kept a running litany against Hamilton’s neck. He picked up his pace. _You want to be punished like a misbehaving youth?_

 _“Oh,”_ Hamilton cried out again, “ _Yes_.”

“Yes, what?” Burr picked up his pace.

“Yes, sir.”

Burr slammed into him as deep as he could, the sound of Hamilton's incessant, delirious begging making him harder than he’d ever been in his life, he was sure of it-- he adjusted his thrust and made Hamilton cry again. He watched the man beneath him grab the headboard for balance, using it to push back against Burr.

“Yes, _what?”_ Burr tried again.

Hamilton felt weak, let his eyes roll back and then closed them; the unceasing pound against that _exact_ spot inside of him-- as if reading his mind Burr fucked him deeper and Hamilton moaned so loudly he was sure the neighbors could hear, “Yes... _Savius.”_

 _“They’re going to think I’m murdering you,_ ” Burr hissed, staccato and frenzied, knocking the bed slightly off-frame. 

Hamilton couldn’t form a thought from the pleasure; he slammed his hand against the wall behind the head board and pushed himself back, fucking himself against Burr, “I _want_ you to fucking murder me, right here. Don’t stop until I scream.”

“Say it again, _please_ , Alexander, I need to hear it.”

 _“Savius…”_ Hamilton pleaded, so hard he was dripping from it, using one hand to keep steady against the wall and the other to stroke himself quick and fast. He felt the heat, the buildup, the pressure and Burr’s breath at his neck and cock inside of him, hitting the same perfect spot over and over and with such force as to make Hamilton black out completely, “...Please, corrupt me-- _please_ ...fuck me and _corrupt_ me--”

Burr could barely register the words, tasting the thin band of sweat on Hamilton’s shoulder and back, biting into him, replaying the sound of his cries, “God, you love it, don’t you. Imagining this--calling me names--”

Hamilton let out another graceless moan, “--I’ll call you whatever you want me to just don’t _stop--punish me--”_

That did Burr in; he pushed deep, tilting his head back to cry out at it, fucking himself into it and every evil thing Hamilton whispered at him to make him last. He released himself and kept going, waves of residual pleasure radiating outwards from between his legs to the tips of his fingers. 

Hamilton matched him: a raw scream, muffled by a pillow. He gripped his cock and pulled, spilling himself onto the sheets, feeling Burr drip down his thighs without stopping, the filthiness of it making him unhinged.

 _“Don’t stop,”_ Hamilton stroked himself, mouth agape, coming harder and longer than he could ever remember. His eyelids fluttered; he moved and grinded back against the other man. He grabbed Burr’s thigh and held him in place, “God, right there-- yes, don’t move-- _there--_ ”

Burr wrapped an arm around Hamilton’s chest, pulling him back so their bodies were flush, and fucked him through it. He watched the other man’s countenance redden, scanned his naked, blushing body and the shining liquid covering them both, and he shivered, still riding him. Burr saw Hamilton squirm and wince, mouth open and head tilted back, sliding in and out, slowing down and savoring it.

“You’re exactly where I want you now,” Hamilton murmured, half-smiling, touching himself.

Burr closed his eyes and sighed, loosening his arm and letting the man in front of him fall forward. Hamilton landed on his hands, carefully avoiding the mess, and rolled onto his back. Burr regarded him, cheeks still alight with passion and Hamilton smiled knowingly. 

***

  
  


“Get some balm for your lip,” Burr managed, pulling his breeches up off the floor and fastening them in place. He scanned Hamilton, still lying naked, unashamed, on the bed. He took it in: the mess, the torn sheets, the cock-eyed mattress and the scrapes against the wall where the bed frame had hit it repeatedly. 

“You’re staring, Burr.”

Burr picked up a long white linen shirt and tossed it at him, “Cover yourself, for God’s sake.”

Hamilton locked eyes with him and stood up, walking towards him and dressing slowly. Burr felt the heat rise between them again and closed his eyes. When he opened them, Hamilton was millimeters away, dressed in nothing but the linen shirt, staring at his mouth. 

_“So,”_ Hamilton breathed, “I was right.”

He slid his hands around Burr’s waist, pulling their identical bodies together. Hamilton looked down and studied the other man’s torso hungrily, took a finger and traced a spot between a handful of dark freckles and a scar from a war wound. His eyes, deep-set and arrogant, flicked up, locking Burr in place, pupils wide like a cat on a hunt.


End file.
